


The True Story Of The Osborn Hair

by glittergrenade



Category: Spider-Man (Comicverse)
Genre: Angst, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hair, Humor, Mental Instability, Osborn hair, Osborns, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, cuz lets be honest i cant write something and put no angst in it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 10:03:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4915258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glittergrenade/pseuds/glittergrenade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How did the Osborn hair first come to be? Normie wants to know. Harry will do anything to find out for him, in the name of redeeming himself as a father.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The True Story Of The Osborn Hair

**Author's Note:**

> Ok Normie really confuses me tho... I mean did it ever fully explain why he started hating Harry when he had been so loyal to Harry before no matter what Harry did? Maybe he just... got older? Developed abandonment issues, poor baby, makes sense. Well, anyways... I figured out the truth of the Osborn hair!!! Hell yeah!

Harry was trying his best to be a better dad. Better than he'd been in the past, and heck, definitely a better father than his ever was. He knew Normie didn't feel comfortable around him — for which he didn't blame the kid — but he was desperate to change that. Liz finally encouraged it, thanks to what Harry had done to help out her brother Molten Man, and he was determined not to squander this second chance. That meant no booze. No drugs. And no more goblin serum. He could do that — anything for his baby boy, he could do.

Peter had talked to Harry about some of the things Normie had apparently told him, and that hurt a little bit. But it only made sense to tell Uncle Pete instead of Undead Goblin Daddy. Normie blamed himself for Harry's death, apparently, and was brimming with more hate than seemed possible to fit in the little bundle that he was. The kid was in therapy, but Harry didn't know how to talk to him about those sorts of things. So one day, he had an idea.

He was staying over at Liz's house for a weekend, in order to hopefully spend time with his son. He approached Normie playing alone with his toy cars. He was so cute, and he looked so innocent — Harry only wished the boy had the luxury of being as untouched by horror as his age deserved. He wished his son wasn't cursed with the Osborn blood. It was all his fault, really. He shouldn't blame his heritage. He needed to stop thinking. Carry out that idea.

He crouched down. "Hey kid, whatcha playing?"

Normie looked up at him, setting down his cars. He didn't reply, but hey, it was an improvement to the screaming he'd done when Harry had more recently come back to life after dying as the Green Goblin in front of the boy's eyes.

Harry picked up one of the cars, and ran his fingers along the little wheels. "These are nice. Daddy used to be friends with a race car driver, you know. Cool guy."

"What happened to him?" Normie's face was earnest, but suspicious. Harry's heart plummeted. Did his son actually think he had done something bad to Johnny Storm? Killed him?

"Nothing. We just stopped hanging out." Deep breaths. Now for putting that idea into effect. Deep breaths. "Normie, Daddy's been thinking. I know there's a lot of… weirdness about me, and there are probably a lot of things that you wish you knew. I want to win your trust, Normie, I really want to be a good dad from now on. I want so bad to deserve your trust. So how about, right now, you ask me anything, anything at all, and I'll answer it for you from my heart. Completely honest, I promise."

Normie stared at him, with big brown eyes. Harry's tongue felt dry as he waited. What would the kid say? Why was his dad a bad guy, how was his dad alive again, why did his dad keep leaving him and coming back only to leave again… anything. Just ask something. Harry wanted him to go ahead and ask something.

Tentatively, Normie stood up. Harry watched him as he reached forwards, and touched the top of Harry's head with his little fingers. A confused smile touched Harry's lips for a moment; whatever this was, it felt nice.

Then Normie sat down again. "Why is your hair like that?"

Okay. Well, that wasn't the type of question he'd been expecting, but somehow, it relieved him. Normie wasn't asking about Goblin stuff, he was asking about Harry's only identity that mattered. That was nice.

It wasn't an easy question, though. "Um…" Harry scratched his head. "That's a very good question. It's a complicated style that a select few rich weirdos do. Grandpa taught Daddy to do it, way back when Daddy was a kid like you. And he never stopped, apparently." Harry ran his fingers through his tight rows of brunette hair. "It's an Osborn tradition."

"I'm an Osborn," Normie pointed out, and paused. "Do you want me to have that hair?"

Harry smiled a little. "You can be whatever you want to be. I can fix you the hairstyle, if you like." He stopped, wondering what Liz would say if she saw Normie with his hair all done in perfect rows. Was that hairstyle for her associated with anything but goblins and their gliders?

Normie shook his head, though he didn't smile back. "I don't want Osborn hair. It would just be nice to know whose dumb idea it was."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Understood. Normie, I promised you I would answer any question you had, and I will. Right now… I just need to find the answer." He stood up abruptly. "I will find the answer for you." He couldn't fail Normie again. Just because Harry's father sucked didn't mean his son had to go through the same thing. He _wouldn't_ fail his kid again.

Normie watched him with an unreadable look on his face. "Where are you going?"

"To find the answer," Harry replied with determination. "I… I will tell you the story of the Osborn hair. I promise."

"Okay." Normie looked down at his cars, as if he didn't even care. That had to change. Harry ran out and slammed the door behind him, hopping into his fancy expensive car quick as his legs would carry him. As he started to pull out of the driveway, Liz came out running in her bare feet.

"Harry!" she yelled, her cheeks puffing, and she was obviously furious at him. "HARRY OSBORN!!!"

Harry stopped, rolling down the window to speak to her. "I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?" she looked relieved suddenly, but still a little suspicious. "You _can't_ go out drinking while you're staying with us."

Harry resisted the urge to sigh. "Who says I'm not going out to buy you something nice?"

There was a silence. Liz looked down. "Harry… don't do this to me."

"It's fine, it's fine," Harry waved a hand. That probably hadn't been the right thing to say. "I'm not. Broke now, remember? I'm just going to New York."

"HARRY!!!" Liz was suddenly angry again. It was amazing how fast she could blaze up. "You can't do this to my son, keep wavering like that! Either be in Normie's life, or stay the hell out of it! You promised him you'd be here till Sunday! Don't you care about him at all? And" — she paused — "isn't your stuff still in the house?"

"I'll be back," Harry emphasized, struggling to be patient. He hadn't treated Liz like he should, and she had every right to act this way. "I meant it when I said I wanted to be a better father now, and I will. I'm doing this for Normie, though it might be hard for you to believe."

Liz took a few deep breaths. "Is this goblin related?"

"What? No!" Harry shook his head avidly. She _couldn't_ believe that. "No, it's not. I just… you can ask our son, okay? This is important. It's for him. I wouldn't go to my dad if it was for myself."

"Your dad?" Liz glowered. "What are you doing?"

"Finding the truth." Oh God, Harry was almost in tears now. But he couldn't cry in front of Liz! He couldn't. He looked away. "Normie deserves the truth and I plan to give it to him. For once in my horrible life I plan to do the right thing." He knew he was crying now, and he knew she knew it was genuine; but Normie needed him, so he almost didn't even care. Harry gazed at her. "He wants to know about my stupid hairstyle, and I don't know. So I'm going to ask my dad (since he never cared at all to tell me before), and then I'll be right back. No stops. I promise."

As Liz continued to gaze at him, a shadow of what looked like concern passed over her face. "You're going to New York and back just to ask your father where he came up with the Osborn hairstyle?"

"Yes." Harry wiped his eyes, then fixed them on the steering wheel in his hands. "That's what I'm doing."

"…Don't you have a phone?"

"You act like you've never met my father," Harry was annoyed. "I can't just ask him that simple and expect an answer. I gotta corner him, I gotta… _make_ him pay attention to me."

"Don't do anything stupid," Liz frowned slightly.

"I won't. I'm sorry, Liz. I gotta go, I'm wasting time. I love…" he paused, stopping himself. "Seeya." He pulled away, and he didn't even hear her yelling after him. That was a plus.

It was a long road trip from New Jersey to New York, especially on his own, but Harry didn't regret it once. He was going to earn back his son's love — one step at a time. It had to be possible. It had to. Harry cranked up his tunes.

When at very long last Harry's feet led him to the door his dad's office, he was exhausted. The second half of the trip had almost been taken in a daze, and almost wasn't sure he'd really made it. But at last it seemed he had — and now he was going to preform his task. He opened the door without knocking.

Norman Osborn slammed his laptop shut. "Harry?!"

"Dad." Harry closed the door behind him softly. "Are you busy?" Polite, there was the way to a favor. Try being polite to his evil evil father. It wasn't easy being polite to Norman.

"Yes." Norman opened up the computer again. "And so should you be, I'm sure you've got dirty coffee mugs to wash. Who even gave you clearance here?"

Harry ignored the question, and not only because he didn't feel like thinking that hard. "Nice hair."

"Way to state the obvious." Norman patted his rows delicately. "Thanks."

"Why do you do it that way?" Harry got to the point.

"How else?" Norman frowned at his computer screen. "Now could you please either get to the point of why you came here, or kindly escort yourself out?"

"That _is_ the point." Harry sat his butt lazily on Norman's desk. "Tell me where the hairstyle came from!" Yeah, the polite thing was pretty difficult.

Norman actually stared at him. "Are you serious?"

"Yes." Harry pushed the laptop screen shut.

"Harry!" Norman opened it again. Harry closed it again. Norman sighed. "What kind of a question even is that?"

"It's a unique hairstyle." Harry gazed at him. "Maybe you could stop being a stupid old man for once and tell me where it came from?!"

"How about you ask that again when you're half as successful as me," Norman suggested.

"Shut up!" Harry shouted, years of fury bubbling up inside him. "I know the only thing you're busy doing is plotting against Spider-Man! But he shouldn't matter! I should! Your grandson should!"

"What, the kid you named after me?" Norman frowned as he opened up his laptop again and scrolled with his mouse. "Oh man."

"What?!" Harry demanded.

"Not you." Norman's eyes were on the screen. "One day, son, you'll have to grow up and learn that the world doesn't revolve entirely around you."

"Hair. Tell me." Harry started to pace the room to keep himself from breaking things. Suddenly, he didn't have to worry about it anymore, because several pairs of arms were over his. Security guards? Where the hell had they come from. "You called security on me?!" Harry cried.

Norman sighed. "What do you expect me to do when there's an uninvited intruder in my office? Look, I don't know when this elegant hairstyle came to be. My father did his hair the same way and his father before him — I only wish you would care enough about that boy of yours to pass it onto him like a real Osborn. Good night, Harry, have a nice one."

"NORMAN!!!" Harry screamed, over and over again, as he was dragged all the way down the many sets stairs and literally thrown out on the steps outside. "Dad…" he whimpered to nobody. Well, that had been an epic fail. At least he'd found out his father didn't know any more about the hair than he did. Supposedly.

Crap.

Suddenly he felt a hand on his arm, and he pulled away sharply. "I'm out! I'm done! Screw you."

"Sorry. Sorry. You okay?"

Harry recognized the voice of his best friend Peter! He scrambled to his feet. "Oh, yeah! Pete! I thought you were someone else. Did you, uh… did you see that?"

"Some inhospitality your father has," Peter sympathized.

Harry forced a laugh. "Yeah. Hey, what are you doing here, anyway?"

"Oh…" Peter was a terrible liar. "Just passing by."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Did Liz call you?"

"Liz? Who's Liz?"

" _Peter_."

Peter sighed, running his fingers through his brown mess of hair. "She was _worried_ about you, Harry. But I didn't come because of her… I'm worried too."

"What? Worried about what? Worried I'm crazy again? What does she think?" Harry demanded.

"Relax." Peter put his hands on Harry's shoulders. "How about we talk about this at the Coffee Bean?"

"I have no time for the Coffee Bean!" Harry pushed his friend away, but Peter seemed too strong. How even was that? Harry sighed, remorse hitting him. "I'm sorry, Peter, I have things to do that you can't help me with."

"It's about Normie?" Peter said, being annoyingly persistent. "He's a good kid. I'm sure he appreciates all the time you've been taking out for him lately."

"He doesn't seem to care either way," Harry replied quietly, because it was true. That was what Harry wanted to change.

"He's numb. He's been through a lot, and he doesn't know what to expect or whether he'll be hurt again." Peter messaged Harry's shoulders. "Trust me though, it's better for him that you're there. Now Harry — would you be mad at me if I asked you if you have any traces of goblin serum in your body that you're aware of?"

Geez. Geez! Couldn't he give a guy a break?! "Go away, Peter." Harry walked to his car and got in; and Peter didn't stop him. He did seem to be watching intensely though.

"She's also worried you want to give goblin serum to Normie to pass on the torch…" Peter added in a very quiet voice.

Harry stared at him from the car, upset rising in his throat. "Did she actually say that??"

"Harry, can I come with you?" asked Peter, and added before Harry could say anything: "because you're my best friend and I love you and I know you love your son and I want to help you, not to give him goblin powers but to give him or hair or whatever it is you're trying to do."

Harry stared at him for a moment. Peter's eyes were wide and pleading and sincere. He looked like he had good intentions. Harry believed that he did. That wasn't the point.

Harry slammed the car door. "I'm in a hurry, Pete. We can chat later." He started the car and drove away. Peter was a good friend, but he wasn't the one who had to redeem himself as a father.

The Osborn townhouse was an old building, and the oldest part of all that, seemed to be the things in the attic. Harry never went in there, but it was the best place he could think of to check for clues on this hair origins mystery, so that's where he was headed. When he arrived, the attic was the first place he went to, after setting up the ladder. No time to stop in any other rooms — no stops, he had promised Liz. He was going to find out the truth for Normie.

The attic was a creaky place. He balanced on the wooden beams, but even they seemed softened from moisture that had gotten through the roof. Harry sighed. Norman needed to look after this place better. Especially if he was going to be using it as a storage room, Harry reflected, as he gazed about the dusty goblin gliders and pumpkin bombs that lay across the floorboards and the big cardboard boxes. A little inspection told him they were all earlier models.

Harry sighed again, pulling out a book from one of the boxes. _The Great Gatsby_?? What was that doing there?? It seemed to be a very old copy, and when he flipped open the cover, he saw there was a message scrawled in pen. _To my dear little Norman, so that you may learn the true meaning of riches, when you're old enough, xx Aunt Zoe._ There were many other books that Harry didn't recognize.

Suddenly a head popped itself into the attic, making him jump. "Whoa, Osbaby, that's a ton of junk you're sorting through there! Sorry, not junk, precious Osborn family heirlooms (I know how sentimental some people get with those). Anything I can help with?"

The heck?? Red webbed mask, big white eyes, what the hell was Spider-Man doing in an Osborn attic?

"No goblins here, nosy bug. Go away," Harry said flatly, trying to seem uninteresting. How the hell likely was _this_ , and why was Harry so unlucky??

Spider-Man swung himself up fully into the attic. "Relax. I genuinely want to help."

Wait. _Relax._ "Did Peter send you?" Harry demanded.

Spider-Man spider-crouched next to one of the boxes of books. "He was worried as heck for you, and he may have mentioned it to me. I offered to follow you and here we are!"

Harry scowled at him. Just why did it have to be this annoying loser Spider-Man! But he guessed he couldn't really blame Peter. Pete was a sensitive man, he was worried for Harry; so of course he would pour his heart out to Spidey. Harry didn't have to be a detective to realize that Peter shared a very special relationship with the superhero he took pictures of.

Harry sighed. "Whatever. I'm looking for facts on the origin of the Osborn hair. It's an old tradition but I have no idea even how old it is."

Spider-Man peered through the boxes. "You think somebody took the time to write it down and put it in a book that proceeded to get kept in your storage for God-knows-how-many years?"

Harry glared at him.

"Right, right." Spidey picked up a book and flipped through the pages. "Grandma Osborn's recipes? Yeah, I guess Stormin' Norman _has_ got some personal stuff in here, that's a bingo."

"Shut up and help, if you insist on staying," Harry said, choosing a book from the same box as the handwritten cookbook. It was another one! And Spider-Man did stay and help. They sat there for hours pouring over books — (correction) to clarify, they spent hours pouring over books in silence. If Harry wasn't so focused on his task, it definitely would've been unnerving — he hadn't known Spider-Man could shut up for one minute, let alone three hours.

Till then suddenly Spidey started reading aloud. " _'The King's wording of the announcemente hath sounding rather strange, or maybe quite accurately the announcemente in itself. It proclaimeth that whomsoever of the bachelors at the ball with the finest styled haire shall win the hande of the princess in marriage_ …'" Spidey paused. "Blah blah blah, and here he drew a picture he drew a picture of _'the proposed arraignment of haire'_ … looks familiar to me."

Harry snatched the book from him, his heart pounding. It was true!! Everything was as Spider-Man said, and the hair did look familiar!! It was his!! And his father's! This was the origin of the Osborn hair!!! He flipped through the pages. _'And my winning hairstyle shall be bestowed as aeny precious heirloome, to the decedents of me and Princess Monica, to the finale of time.'_

"YES!" Harry shouted in relief, almost slamming the book, before realizing that could shatter the cracked yellow pages. He looked at the title page. _'This is the diary of Lord Jonathan Osbourne of Cambridge, begun in the Year of our Lord 1202.'_ "This is really old," Harry wowed, bestowing the book carefully in his jacket pocket.

"You're welcome," said Spider-Man, always the uncalled for.

"Congratulations, you won yourself a slightly higher circle in my personal hell," Harry glanced at him. "Guess you don't suck quite so entirely much after all."

"Appreciated," Spider-Man squeaked, hopping across the boards to swing himself back down in the house. Harry followed more slowly.

They walked together through the house, which was kind of weird. Harry cleared his throat. "You do know you're not supposed to trespass on other people's private property though, right?"

Spider-Man shrugged. "Well, the spandex privilege kinda bypasses those little things, you know? It's all in the superhero guide book. Besides, Peter sent me, remember?"

"You said he told you he was worried and you just decided to stalk me like the skulker you are."

"Heh. Right." Spidey shrugged. "Point is, it's for your benefit. And your son's. Are you going back to him now?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded. "Hey… could you ask Peter to call Liz about this? Talk to her about how… I did it. It's okay. I'm being a better father now."

"Of course, Harry." They came to the door. "I'll make sure Peter knows to do that." He extended his wrist, and swung off on a web into the dark blue sky.

Harry watched him for a moment. Then he looked away, got into his car, and drove. The ride felt shorter somehow, on the way back, though it took just the same amount of time. It was dark and late when he made it, but he hoped Normie would still be up. He knocked on the door, and Liz answered. "Harry?"

"Liz," Harry smiled faintly, and held up the book triumphantly. "It was for a contest. A princess' hand in marriage."

"What?" Liz raised an eyebrow, then shook her head and beckoned Harry in. "C'mon. I was just trying to put Normie to bed… he wanted to stay up and wait for you. I wasn't sure you'd come."

"Did Peter call?" Harry queried tiredly, holding the book in both hands.

"Yeah." Liz didn't seem to have anything more to say. But that was okay, because at that moment Normie ran down the steps. Harry closed the door and met his little boy.

"Daddy found the answer!" Harry found the page of the book with the drawing of the hairstyle, and showed it to his son excitedly. "Lord Jonathan Osbourne of Cambridge invented it in 1202 to win the hand of Princess Monica in marriage and swore that it would be passed on through their descendants, and those descendants are _us_! Sorry I'm late with the answer. It was a little harder finding it out than I expected, but it was okay! Grandpa didn't know so he had his guards throw me out but I found it in the attic in his townhouse and I came across Spider-Man but I dealt with it and…" he trailed off, watching Normie's increasingly wide eyes. Oh crap, had mentioning Spider-Man been a wrong move?

Then Normie spoke, softly. "You did… you went through all that… for _me_?" Oh God. The kid looked touched.

"Yeah," Harry replied, slowly, sincerely. "Of course. I'm your dad, and… I know I haven't done a good job of it so far, but I'm trying to do better. I'm so sorry for all I put you through, Normie. I _will_ do all I can to make up for it. I mean it."

Normie stared at him for a few more seconds. Then he threw his arms around Harry in a burst of warmth. So many feelings bubbled up inside Harry's chest as he hugged him back. So, so grateful… Normie was giving him another chance. And he couldn't screw up again. He _wouldn't_. Harry felt love for his son, he was loved and he did love, so much love… "I love you Normie," Harry whispered from the bottom of his heart. "I love you so much." He felt Liz's gentle hand on his shoulder, massaging it slightly. Oh. _Liz approves._

Man. It was like they were a family again. Things were _good_.

And that is the true story of the Osborn hair.

The End

 

Epilogue:

At that moment, the unlocked door was burst open and a familiar voice came. "It was brought to my attention today that my failure of a son hasn't passed on the tradition of the Osborn hair… how would it be if I did it for you, grandson?" said Norman Osborn.

The End!


End file.
